


Places

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Musicalbabes, Spanking, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: The problem with being married to an angsty teen, is that sometimes she forgets her place
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 102





	Places

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, no I haven't abandoned any of the multichap stories I have going on rn. But finals burnout made it difficult to write much of anything so I decided to polish up an old WIP in my files and here we are. Hope you all enjoy it!

She should have known better than to make him mad. Lydia fled the house, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Fearful of what she had unleashed, of what it might mean for her. She headed for the woods, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t be able to find her there. The branches were sharp and jagged, shadows sinister and ominous. He lurked within them, she knew. She knew there was no place she could go that he wouldn’t be able to find her. His cursed bride, he would always know where she was. But perhaps foolishly, she had thought herself above and immune to his devil may care attitude towards everyone around her and life in general. It seemed this night he was set to prove just how wrong she was.

Lydia spared a fleeting glance at the path as she broke through the underbrush, and that was when he had her. Tripped over a root, her heart pounding in her ribcage as she she stumbled to her feet. But it was too late. A sinuous limb of wood wound itself around her ankle, preventing her from further escape. Somewhere, in the midst of her frantic, directionless running, she’d stumbled into a small copse of trees. Birch trees, with their dingy white barks and their ashy black stripes. The limb of the tree picked her up until she was hoisted upside down, skirt falling around her face even as she fought gravity in vain to preserve some semblance of modesty. His chuckle, dark and desirous and sadistic, echoed through the clearing. Lydia was alone. She was utterly alone, and there was no one here to save her now. Rustling came from all directions, the sound of snapping branches slow and methodic, as though the person breaking them had all the time in the world. Lydia forced herself not to show the fear flooding her every pore. She knew it was pointless, he would be able to smell it on her anyways. He was enjoying this, the sound of screams stirring his baser desires, the scent of fear stirring coagulated blood and waking the beast beneath his skin.

Beetlejuice stepped into the clearing, a cigarette dangling from one hand as he took a casual drag.

“Evenin’ babes,” he greeted, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, or a vendetta against her at the moment, “Out on a walk, or just hangin’ around?”

Lydia remained silent. To reply was to goad him, encourage him. Perhaps if she didn’t react he would get bored and leave her alone until he managed to cool down.

“Aww, what’s the matter baby?” he asked as he walked closer, clearly enjoying the view as he circled around her the same way a vulture does a fresh carcass, “Feelin’ a little… topsy turvy?”

A low growl burbled up in her throat, strangled but no less audible. He seemed bemused by this timid display of tepid ferocity. A bold departure from that night on the roof when she’d brought him to his knees, backpedaling on the floor as she cornered _him_. Maybe he’d been playing desperate to lull her into a false sense of security, get her to do what he wanted of her own volition. Or maybe this was simply payback.

Beetlejuice laughed, “Well what did you think would happen? You go messin’ with a demon, this is what you get. Hell, I’m goin’ _easy_ on ya, ‘na count of you bein’ my wife ‘n all.” he paused a moment and really took a look at her expression. Whatever it was he found there only caused him further dark mirth, “Oh what? Did you think I was nothin’ more than your precious little pet? Some type of fuckin’ yappy purse dog you could show off or call on when you wanted someone off yer back? Somethin’ you could collar and put on a leash? Did ya think just because I wasn’t doin’ nothin’ t’nobody at the moment I was somehow less dangerous than people feared? Didja think that scarin’ the crap outta people -while admittedly fun- was really as dangerous as I got? Let me clue you in on something, _little girl_ ,” he hissed, raising the limb so the sound slithered directly into her ear, “I ain’t been let loose in thousands of years, _thousands_ ; an’ I’ve had plenty of time to sit there, think’ of the most debased, depraved, disgusting ways to torture a human being. Why? Just ‘cuz I _can_. You breathers, are so fragile, so breakable, but the dead stitch up just as easily. Sure, y’don’t get the satisfaction of watchin’ the blood drip drip down a freshly massacred body, but y’get the sweetest sound of all; the sounds of pain and unbearable agony coupled with the realization that this time there ain’t no death that exists for an escape. _That’s_ the kind of monster you married babes.”

He leaned closer, sticking his nose into the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of the reactions her stubborn little mouth would try to deny. Lydia was a hard scare on most occasions, his own murder notwithstanding she was very much against taking a life if it could be avoided. And yet, here she was, married to someone who frankly didn’t give a flying fuck about anyone’s life, save hers. She was his obsession, they both knew this, he’d known it since that night on the roof. But obsessed or not, Lydia needed to learn that he played nice to indulge _her_ , not because of some implied growth of character on his part. Life was not precious, but hers _was_. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need to remember who she belonged to when her teenage attitude got the better of her. Beetlejuice pulled back and let a curdled smirk join his leering gaze as he looked at his helpless underage bride, continuing,

“Just because I didn’t wanna scare ya off at first don’t mean I’m your little bitch, got it?” he dusted off his jacket and straightened out the perpetually crooked and lopsided lapels, “Now, are we gonna say sorry and cower like the good little girl I know you are deep down?”

“Fuck you Beetlejuice,” Lydia spat, frown deepening even as the blood rushed to her head.

“Well, well, well,” Beetlejuice cackled, not thrown by the response in the slightest. She may have been nothing but macabre sweetness deep down, but that callous attitude of hers really needed to go when it came to him, “When you ask so nicely, how could I refuse? But first,” with a snap of his fingers she was thrown into the air, caught by several limbs around her wrists, ankles, waist, and neck, “I think _somebody_ needs to learn her place in this relationship,”

And just like that, her clothes were torn from her body, ripped to shreds until she wore nothing but tree. Beetlejuice let out a low whistle, she wasn’t the curviest woman he’d ever seen. But she was petite and a damn knockout in her own right. And she was his, all his. To cherish, to love, to wreck and utterly destroy. The mere possibilities were intoxicating all their own. The tree limbs held her tight, tight enough so that she couldn’t get loose, but not so tight that she was incapable of movement, however slight it may have been. Just the way he wanted her. Beetlejuice flicked his cigarette into a fallen pile of leaves. There we go, some firelight to keep his baby warm. Not that he didn’t like seeing all that beautiful alabaster skin covered over in goosebumps, but those should come from _his_ chill, not the outside’s.

Lydia struggled. How how she struggled, it was delicious. Almost as delicious as her fear. He could taste it in the air. But with fear came anticipation, with anticipation came desire. And that was the smell most prevalent as he drew closer and closer to her core. One delicate thigh was right within his reach, red stained fingers and blackened claw like nails softly grabbing hold of it. So soft, so malleable, so easily bruised. Another reminder of just how _alive_ she was, in spite of her preoccupation with death. He dropped a small kiss before biting down, hard. Lydia yelped before she could help herself. She hadn’t expected his teeth to be that _sharp_. She glared down at him,

“Watch it!” she warned, voice sounding dangerous but the effect diminished by the fact that she was literally being restrained by enchanted tree limbs wearing nothing but the skin she’d been born with.

“Oh I’ll watch,” Beetlejuice allowed, eyes glittering with depraved darkness, “If you want to let the trees do the work…” another snap and there was yet another limb coming towards her, snaking itself around her leg, then her waist, until it dipped down against her pelvis, and that was when she cried out,

“No!” the limb immediately receded, even as Beetlejuice laughed,

“Not into that kink babes?” he asked her, “Or just want something a little more… substantial?”

“Beetlejuice I swear I’ll-mph!” her threat was cut off by the limb round her neck moving to gag her instead.

“I’m sorry,” Beetlejuice played dumb, putting a hand to his ear, “I just- I can’t- Could you maybe-” her muffled words kept meeting his ear, and he laughed again, “What’s the matter with you Lydia?” he asked with a cackle, “Weren’t you ever taught not to talk with your mouth full?”

It was a joke he usually reserved for when she made aggravated noises while choking on his cock, but he couldn’t resist saying it here. Don’t talk with your mouth full was always a fun double entendre. Speaking of mouths, Beetlejuice brought her down lower so he could get a good feel for his bride. His fingers dipped inside, feeling the warmth, sweet and sticky as it coated the intrusive digits. She was liking this a little more than she let on. Not as big and bad and dominant as she usually made others believe. A switch was always fun to play with. He wondered…

“Well, well, well Lydia Deetz,” he began casually, as if she weren’t strung up and naked like some strange art installation, “What do we do with you? Should I bring ya back home like this?” he whispered into her ear, fingers either occupied with the core of her body or sliding up along her skin, “All naked and trussed up like a Christmas dinner? Would ya like that Lydia? I can throw you down on the damn coffee table and do whatever the fuck I like to ya and none of your damn parents’ll be able to stop me.”

Lydia wriggled more, short black hair sent further askew as she struggled. Shivers running down her spine, breasts peaked and hardened with chill, more of her personal nectar spilling out onto his hand. Sweet Satan below she was beautiful like this. A blank canvas to be spattered with color. The possibilities were endless.

“Or…” Beetlejuice drawled, moving his fingers about her opening but refusing to dip inside where he knew she wanted them to be, “Should I wait until we’re done here? Let you come home in my jacket, with pretty little red marks on your wrists and ankles… and your tits, and thighs, and nice dark purple hickeys ‘round yer neck like a goddamn collar? Bring you back lookin’ like ya had the livin’ daylights fucked outta ya? Well baby?” he purred, drawing closer, “What’s it gonna be?”

“Mmfph!” Lydia responded, still muffled by her botanical gag. Fun as it might be to keep it there, he wanted to hear her say it. Wanted her to surrender to what they both knew she wanted. Question was, would she let her stubborn pride get in the way. He almost hoped she would, nothing he liked better than a little… _gentle persuasion_. Not that it would take much coaxing from the way her hips canted against his fingers already, trying to derive more satisfaction from them than he was currently allowing her. He removed both, and watched her whine with disappointment even as she took in plentiful gasps of air through her mouth.

“Well?” he pressed even as he licked her off his fingers, coaxing her a little more as he brought the limbs down so she could feel the tickle of overgrown grass against the soles of her feet. Feel it, but not touch it, so close but with freedom just out of reach. But he would give her that, give her everything, in exchange for her submission to him. The branch around her mouth had receded, though it hung around her collarbone as a silent reminder of what could happened if she squandered her chances.

Lydia panted a moment, and while he knew that yes she did need air, this was also a token resistance, stalling her decision. The one she was still mulling over in her head. It wasn't a question of what would happen next, they both already knew where this night was heading. It was simply a decision of how much she valued her pride. Though he'd told her more than once it took far more courage to admit one’s desire for weakness and submit. If he hurt her, it was because she wanted him to. Lydia liked strength, her switch tendencies were mainly a manifestation of wanting control at an emotional time where she'd had none. Playing the sap had let her feel in control, which had let her feel powerful, which had let her be manipulated. But her weaker side just wanted someone to take care of her. Just like her mommy would have. Well, okay, maybe not _just_ like mommy would, but the principle of the thing was the same.

“...” Lydia's response was whispered and quiet, almost inaudible. And that wouldn't do. He forced the tree limb to push her chin up and meet his gaze.

“Come again?” Beetlejuice asked her. They were close, so close. Close enough to kiss and make up. All she had to do was beg. Give in, let him take control. As much as he liked a good struggle fuck, this wasn’t about struggling for the sake of adding to the thrill, this was about Lydia having ticked him off one too many times and her needing to surrender if she wanted him to go easy on her.

“I want to stay here,” Lydia murmured softly as she looked away, heat rising in her cheeks, “I want you to take care of me,”

He smirked, victory was his, but he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t ride it for all it was worth, “And what about that little temper tantrum you threw huh?” he prodded her, “You gonna be a stubborn little bitch or are ya gonna own up to what ya did?”

“I…” Lydia bit her lip, “I’m sorry I made you mad,”

“Sorry you made me mad…” he drawled contemplatively, “But not sorry for whatcha did, do I have that right?”

Lydia puffed up her cheeks and cast her gaze to the side. Ah, so she was determined to be stubborn about this was she? Clearly she was looking for punishment. The wording was just too careful for her not to be. Demanding even when submitting. Fine, alright, he could work with that.

With a snap of his fingers the grass grew, twisting over roots as they formed themselves into a chair for him to sit on. He wanted her off the ground and away from anything but himself that she could use for purchase. The vines released her, dropping her into his arms as he sat down. With a bit of magic his tie took on a life of its own, unknotted itself from around his neck and settled firmly around her wrists. It was perhaps the nicest piece of clothing he owned. Despite the fraying from the centuries of use and the stain splotches of color that scattered over the black material the silken texture could not be denied, and it wasn't as if he’d had it tied tight enough to do anything beyond leaving a few red marks if she decided to struggle against them. Beetlejuice settles into the chair and sprawled her face down over his lap, stomach taking up the breadth of his thighs. Lydia wiggled a little against the feeling of the material against her vulnerable skin, aided by the chill of the night air above her and the overwhelming warmth of the fire around them.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Beetlejuice tutted, placing a hand against her lower back, causing her to still, “None of that now,”

Lydia froze. So close and yet so far. She almost felt ashamed for how she was acting. She knew Beetlejuice, he was many things, jealous, possessive, even a little domineering. But he was putty in her hands so long as she didn’t push her luck. But she’d always noticed he was much more in his element when fueled by darker emotions. Sadism, anger, schadenfreude, scares became more potent, words became more lascivious, and their fucking became more desperate and depraved. And Lydia, strange and unusual girl that she was, craved all of it. She would purposefully put out, only a little and only when she knew he’d be watching her. A practiced genuine smile here, a light touch there, all the while knowing he would burn at the sight of any hint of her more tender side being shown to anyone but him. He tolerated it with her parents and the Maitlands, and only because he knew they weren’t rivals for her affections in much the same manner anyone else she dealt with was.

But perhaps the biggest problem in their relationship was that Lydia did not yet have the maturity to claim what she wanted and ask for it outright. The idea that she could be in control of her desires and predilections was forgeign, scary, adult. Too adult. Beetlejuice encouraged all of her depravity, every bad thought and action she’d had borne of pain and hurt and sorrow, but he’d also supported her whenever she’d wanted to try something, so long as all she did in return was ask. But again, the real fear was being judged for what she wanted, even though she knew deep down he wouldn’t judge her. He’d been around too long and done far too much to be throwing stones. Even so, Lydia felt she’d rather feign purity and claim she tried to say no; but that she’d married a monster, and that monster took what he wanted. No one could blame her if she’d tried to resist. So she baited him. This time however, she’d pushed him too far, and had taken offense when he’d cornered her just to pour more fuel on the fire. Because she had wanted him mad, but she hadn’t known just how mad he could get. She was frightened, she felt frightened of the things he could do, things he would do. But yet despite the humane fear of an unholy and unstoppable power burning and crackling before her, she’d felt no fear of him. Beetlejuice was a monster, but he would never hurt her. Punish her? Yes. Debase and demean her? Of course. Claim and take ownership of her in a way that would have the average normie concerned for her safety in this relationship -beyond the other factors of both the age gap and his status as a dead guy? Absolutely. But this was all something Lydia _wanted_ him to do, so she couldn’t blame him for doing it.

Call her crazy. Call her sick and twisted and deranged. Call her a freak. She didn’t care, she’d wear all those insults as badges of honor if it meant Beetlejuice would do what she asked him to do. He knew it, he had to know she’d done it all on purpose, he’d clarified her response and he wouldn’t have done that if he’d taken her words at face value. He knew she wanted him to punish her, but she also knew he was a fucking bastard who wouldn’t take pleasure in just doing what she wanted, not without gloating.

Beetlejuice regarded the feast spread out across his lap. Lydia was getting anxious, her heart was thundering against her ribcage, resounding through his silent body. His beautiful babes, his beloved cursed bride. But she needed to learn, that her place was not to goad him into fits like this, that this was immature bullshit that he wasn’t gonna stand for. She’d jerked around with his feelings once before, and once was enough. If she wanted him to punish her, she was gonna have to grow some lady balls and ask for it.

“Should use the crop on ya,” he mused, seriously mulling it over as he thought out loud, “Actin’ like this, like I’m a fuckin’ moron to be baited inta spankin’ ya.”

Something in Lydia clenched deeply at the thought and she lurched forward without even thinking about it. His hand on the small of her back kept her from escaping him, even though escape was the last thing on her mind. So close, so close. Just do it already. She wanted it, she needed it.

“But first,” he stilled her again, “I need ya to tell me why you did this, I need ya to tell me what ya want from me. I need ya to know what ya want, and own it. You’re a sick, twisted bitch, an’ I love ya for it, but I ain’t gonna be angered inta givin’ ya what ya want. You want me t’do somethin’ gonna need ya t’stop bein’ chickenshit and tell me.”

Lydia felt slightly embarrassed, but she wasn’t going to do anything but stay here in limbo unless she did as she said. In a way, it felt much like the time his machinations had led her to nearly killing Barbara, again. That same sense of helplessness to do anything but what he asked of her. That saying no would help no one, and being stubborn would have consequences she couldn’t abide by. Of course, this wasn’t nearly as serious as that. But it felt like it to her emotions. Her face burned with shame, turning bright red as made little sounds, trying to get the words to come.

“Spank me,” she eventually pleaded, “Punish me, please. I made you mad, I did it on purpose because I wanted you to spank me.”

“‘N _why_ did we do that?” he pressed, wanting to hear it from her pouty little lips. He did reward her a little, hand drifting down the curve of her backside and gently brushing at her thighs.

“Because…” Lydia bit her lip, “Because I didn’t want to have to ask you for what I wanted. I didn’t want to admit I wanted this.”

“Why?”

“Because…” oh gods, this was embarrassing. To have to admit this to him, because he didn’t get it. As much as she didn’t give a fuck what society thought of her, she cared about what _he_ thought of her. And it was a real human fear to have your loved one look upon you with revulsion and disgust because of something you wanted from them, “I didn’t want you to judge me.”

He was silent a moment, looking down at her. Her posture was more submissive than usual, even for all the times they’d done this. He’d said it before, she was a switch, which worked well for them. But this wasn’t a submissive posture borne out of wanting to please him, it was submissive because she was afraid. Not of him, never of him, but of his censure. It was a groundless fear, because he would never judge her, not for any of the kinky shit she wanted him to do. He would never do that, not to her, not to his Lydia. No matter how twisted, depraved, or downright unholy he desires were he would always indulge her. And she knew that.

“Babes, c’mon,” he raised his other hand and pet her hair, “This is me we’re talkin’ about here. I ain’t gonna judge ya if y’want me to slap yer ass every once in a while, or more.”

“I know but,” Lydia sighed, “I don’t know, it’s one of those stupid human things where you have unnecessary fears of being judged for being into weird shit. I know it’s dumb, I know that logically you wouldn’t judge me for wanting what I want. But… I don’t know,” Lydia huffed, “It’s still embarrassing to bring up.”

“Y’don’t need to be embarrassed about anything,” Beetlejuice told her, “I’m into some depraved, twisted shit, whatever you think is dark, I can assure you I’ve done worse.”

Lydia braced her elbows up on one of her knees and craned her neck to look at him, “I can’t tell if you’re bragging or trying to make me feel better,”

“Think of it as encouragement,” he petted her again, “Think up s’more twisted little fantasies in your head. But first,” he made a show of spitting into his hand, “We’ve got your punishment to deal with.”

“H-how many blows?” Lydia’s voice trembled as she asked, already licking her lips with anticipation.

“Many as I feel like,” Beetlejuice told her matter of factly, and without warning he brought his hand down smack against her.

Lydia gasped and lurched forward with the momentum, knocked right off her perch on his thigh and now she lay prone on his lap. A strangled moan sounded past her mouth as she opened in shock and satisfaction than immediately closed it in embarrassment. The sound could not be contained however, and it was music to his ears. But so was the low sound she released when he stroked over the stinging area, soothing it with deathly cold flesh. Goosebumps immediately appeared, not from chill, but from anticipation and awareness. When his fingers drew away from the place of impact, Lydia thought he might dip inside her, as he was usually wont to do when she pushed him like this. But much to her shock he merely brought his hand back down again, painting the other cheek in that same sweet shade of pinkish red.

On and on this went, at infrequent intervals and strengths. Sometimes, he would play with her, dipping into her folds and smearing the gathering juices across his palm before delivering yet another blow. Never in the same place twice, though there was some overlap between where the fingers splayed. And all the while, Lydia was built higher and higher, with each sting she felt arousal spike and clench within her. More pain, more pleasure with each soothing caress of his icy hands and sharp sting as he brought them into contact with her in various ways. Higher, tighter that coil within her wound and she was close. So close, almost there, she could feel it. One more strike, one more touch, and she’d be a goner. Fallen off that edge into blissful oblivion, a trial run of death where she transcended her own body.

But she was denied. Beetlejuice took his hand away and sat there, watching with mirth as her brain attempted to rectify the sudden lack of stimulation with all the stuff it had been getting before. She keened and whined as reality finally caught up with her and he smirked, taking a drag on a juiced up cigarette.

“Oh come on Baby,” he purred, slowly shifting his legs so that Lydia could slide down and look at him from a kneeling position on the forest floor, “If you'd gotten off this wouldn’t be much of a punishment now would it?”

Lydia whined again, hating being denied and hating even more that he was in the right about all of this. She panted, still desperately trying to reach her climax even as she felt herself move, knees hitting the soft carpet of grass beneath her. Lydia licked her lips, trying to figure out his game. What did he want her to do? Did he want her to beg? She’d beg. She’d do whatever he wanted if it meant he’d make her come.

“Beej please,” Lydia begged him, not waiting for him to ask, demand, whatever, “I was so close, I was almost there. I was ready to _scream_. Can’t you finish me off?”

He smirked, and that gravely chuckle of his reverberated down her spine, making her shiver, “You wanna come baby girl?” he asked her, jagged teeth showing at her enthusiastic nod, “Then work for it,”

He gestured to his lap, more specifically the tent in his lap. And Lydia knew what he wanted her to do. She went to reach for the zipper of his pants when she remembered her wrists were still bound together with his tie. Helplessly she looked down at them, then back up at him, eyes asking and her mouth about to follow.

“I never said this was gonna be easy,” Beetlejuice gloated as he looked down at her. She was eager already, even if she was a little lost at the moment. Well, she’d wanted him like this, so this was what she got, “Keep it on or I send you home and you get nothing,” nothing but a lecture from her parental units, because he wasn’t gonna be nice and give her back her clothes for decency’s sake.

Lydia pouted, eyes raging with that adolescent rebellion that he was more than ready to fuck out of her. Spoiled little rich girl, but he loved her all the same. Lydia growled from behind closed lips but she didn’t force him to make good on his threat. She worked out how to move with the constraints of the tie and found her balance. Gently nipping at the bulge she reached for the zipper and undid it with her teeth. Restrained hands reached into the opened placket, trying to spread the fabric open so she could get a good look at what lay beneath. Sometimes, he liked to surprise her, such was the risk of having a supernatural spouse with shapeshifting abilities. A venomous snake, a slimy tentacle, sometimes even a a sandworm with a glowing red eye, hissing angrily until lavished with her attentions. She half expected tricks, showmanship, something to make her job even more difficult. But no, all that lay there was him, as he was, hard and aching for her. Well, maybe not _aching_ , not yet at least.

Lydia reached with her hands, circling them around the base and working them up the shaft for a few strokes, just to get a rhythm going. Slow, methodical, meant to please. When she had one established, she flicked out her tongue against the tip of his cock. Being dead, arousal meant something completely different, cold and hard and slightly mossy. And yet, it didn’t taste bad, like sucking on an ice cube, there was no discernable taste to it that would make an opinion on it one way or the other. What made Lydia want to do this, beyond just his order that if she wanted to come she’d have to earn it, were his reactions to it. The subtle rumbles and groans of pleasure when she flicked her tongue out against the right spot, or when she’d draw him in as deep as she could go, swallowing around him as she breathed through her nose. Licking, sucking, pressing kisses against the shaft as she worked him over. He was being purposefully obstinate, refusing to react. One might think apologizing would be enough but the man held his grudges. He’d fed his own mother to a sandworm for crying out loud. Lydia pouted around the cock in her mouth, reaching up again with her hands to try and provide some extra stimulation so he would give her something, anything to work with here.

Beetlejuice knew what she was trying to do. And surprisingly enough, it wasn’t to get him hard enough to fuck her. Not quite at any rate. No, part of the reason he often asked, ordered in this case, Lydia to blow him was because not only did he get off from her attention, she got off on his reactions. Too bad for her he’d let her get close before. He was damn sure if her hands weren’t bound together one of them would have been sneaking down her body to toy with the little fun button he’d had to introduce her to. As it was though, he was determined to break her, make her remember who was the real powerhouse in their relationship. Sure, he could beg, he could grovel, he would let her tie him up in chains and gag him so he couldn’t speak and any and all manner of wonderfully depraved things. But if she wanted him to play nice, then she had to earn it through his own good will. Besides, the little furrow to her brow was absolutely adorable, especially when she wanted to make him lose his goddamn mind. Not a far stretch all things considered.

For her own part Lydia was starting to grow frustrated with her husband. He had taught her everything she knew and now he was acting like she was no good at this? Not even reacting? It wasn’t fair, especially when being dead meant Lydia didn’t get the little tells she might have with a living partner. No racing pulse, no shallow intake of breath, no twitches or spasms of pleasure as nerves were overloaded with sensation. Not if he was determined not to react. His pleasure was mostly in his mind, he knew what felt good because he’d observed what felt good. So Lydia decided to cheat. There was one thing she’d learned that he could never resist her doing. She shielded her teeth, bobbed her head down as far on his shaft as it could go, and then she began to talk. Or well, she attempted to talk it should be said. Making actual words was beyond her abilities at the moment, but the point was creating sound vibrations that would reverberate up and down his cock and cause him to lose the rest of his mind. Sure enough, one little hum had him jerking his hips into her mouth, a soft “fuck” escaping him.

That little fucking minx. He should have known she’d play dirty. That was how he liked her, and she was desperate to come so of course she’d aim to please. But damn her, they both knew if she made him cum like this she wouldn’t learn her place and therefore, her lesson. And it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t mind the chance to break her all over again, let her get a little mouthy and overconfident before putting her right back in her place. But being worked over by a mere mortal right at this very moment? It would be an insult to his ego, and to his less than stellar reputation. He was a goddamn creature of darkness, not some shy virgin on his first round with some kinky bitch. With a hand tangled in her hair, he forced her mouth off of him, something he’d never thought he’d ever have to do but here they were. Lydia whined a little as she fell back onto the grass, and Beetlejuice stood from the seat, dispersing it back into nothing while his pants fell the rest of the way down his legs. The buttons of his shirt were scattered like dustmites as he wrenched the rest of his clothing from his body. And Lydia felt the grass soft against her back as he pounced on her.

“Fucking goddamn cocktease,” he spat at her as he held her bound arms above her head and toyed with her with the other. And then he pulled out an extra set, just to torture her. She had it coming she supposed, he could always see right through her sexually. Lydia moaned and writhed and wiggled as he teased her. Yes, there, right there, just a little bit closer…

But Beetlejuice knew her too well. And he wasn’t gonna give her the satisfaction. He was gonna claim her first, if she came around him, well it wasn’t as if that had ever stopped him from getting his own satisfaction before. If he had to keep fucking his partner through it, then so be it. One hand holding down her wrists, one pinning her at the center of her hips, and the other two spreading her legs as wide as they could go, he summoned a fifth one just to line himself up before banishing as he went full hilt with a single stroke. Lydia gasped, bucking against the extra limbs as she tried to arch against him. He retracted all but the normal ones, unable to concentrate on his magic long enough to keep them corporeal, or human looking. Then he withdrew, listening to the sticky clinging sound of Lydia’s body trying to keep him where he was, protesting his movement and encouraging it all the same. With another harsh jerk of his hips he seated himself back within her. Lydia continued to do everything in her power to spur him on, all the filthy talk she knew he liked, all the writhing and moaning and harsh, harsh panting. All the strokes to his ego and the clenching of her inner walls around his cock. That was his baby girl. Such a good fuck, ever since the very first time and she just kept getting better.

He was trying to kill her. He had to be. There was no other explanation in Lydia’s mess of a mind as Beetlejuice kept slow and steady pace inside her. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t enough either. All she could think of would be that she’d die like this, in a half finished state of ecstasy and he’d keep her this same way for all eternity. Adam and Barbara had once remarked they got phantom pains, the pains of their injuries in the fall that caused their deaths. She’d seen plenty of other dead people in the Netherworld marked by their makers. So if he killed her by doing this would she remain in a half unsatisfied state for all eternity? She really didn’t want to find out, she’d rather he killed her and she went out on an orgasm. What a way to go after all. But no, in, out, so big and thick and _slow_. Fuck. Lydia begged, she wailed and moaned and whimpered and whispered the filthiest things she could think of, making promises she knew he would remember and come to collect on later. Things that were she not in this lust fueled frenzy she never would have promised him. But she was desperate, ready to do anything if he’d just make her come.

Beetlejuice was the master of the long con. But he couldn’t deny his patience and sense of finesse was wearing thin. Lydia’s sounds, her reactions, everything about him drove him to the edge. He wanted to fuck her until she’d long since left her body behind and then some. Faster, harder, until he was certain there’d be angry bruises in the shapes of his fingertips at her hips, a nice accompaniment to the mark on her thigh, on the bites decorating her neck, all of it a sure and thorough claim that she was _his_. He could lose himself within her, both in the sexual sense and not. Now there was an idea, a bit of possession. Something to save for next time but the very idea of it was enough to make him lose control completely. He recognized animalistic grunts and growls and whines as Lydia seized around him, clearly having found her completion. He fucked her through each wave, the spasming of her muscles providing even more delicious friction to fight through. A few more thrusts and he came too, shuddering and swearing as she let out a final low moan.

He collapsed on top of her, rolling off to the side and gathering her up in his arms, only barely remembering to remove the tie from around her wrists. There were some nice angry red marks there, another symbol of his dominion over her when it counted. Lydia was attempting to catch her breath, but she snuggled into him anyways. Everything felt sore, her wrists, her neck, her ass, everything. And it was the kind of sweet sting that spoke of getting fucked six ways from sunday. Which she arguably had been. She was exhausted in all the best ways, and she had her husband to thank for that. He sat up and reached for his jacket, slinging it around her shoulders as he juiced the rest of his clothes back onto his body. She didn’t need to ask to know her clothes would be sitting in a haphazard pile at the end of her bed when they returned home. That had been an angry fuckfest in and of itself, getting him to agree to put her clothes back together if he was so intent on tearing them.

And while it was just as easy to poof them both back to the house, he seemed to enjoy the simple act of walking to and from a place. He’d never fully been able to explain the reason for it, and Lydia never asked beyond the casual curiosity. There were just simple mundane tasks he preferred to do without the use of his magic. Walking from one place to another was one of them. And so, he would walk them both back to the house, sneaking them inside without a single notice. Threats aside, he never wanted to share what he did to her with the rest of her family. Make lewd comments and imply the sort of stuff they got up to at every available opportunity? Absolutely, but they would never see the proof. Because they wouldn’t understand, they’d mistake affection for something darker, more toxic, but the truly dangerous thing would be to try and separate them.

Lydia may have challenged the roles of their dynamic. She may have bossed him around and made him beg for her. But one thing she had never questioned since their reunion was that her place was at his side, just like his was at hers. There was no need to tell him this though, he knew. They both knew. She merely watched through bleary eyes as he walked them home through the fire that extinguished itself at his command, and the grass and branches retreating, leaving the ground pristine without a single scorch mark or trampled blade of grass. No trace left behind, the mark of a perfect haunting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and until next time Netherlings!


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